


Drink of life

by MMS



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Denial, M/M, Slow Burn, deeply in the closet individuals, painful sad pinning, pinning, tastefull classy blow job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5154011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMS/pseuds/MMS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Oswald start meeting every morning for coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink of life

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came to me when I was chopping onions and listening to Talk Me Down. I'm not even kidding. 
> 
> The song Oswald listens to during a club scene is Drift by Galimatias
> 
> This takes place in an ambiguous time after the first episode of the second season, before the Galavans come on the scene.

\----

Jim slips a glove off and exhales hotly into it, then puts it back on. He does the same to the other glove. A trick he recently learned to keep his hands warm.  

“Mind if I sit here?” He asks, already sitting down on the bench. He finds himself on the grassy perimeter of an oddly shaped park, if you can call it that, more like an island of citrus tree’s wedged between two one-way roads. Where Lucus and Ivory street meet. Little cafe’s and restaurants, that have yet to open, line the peaceful streets.

Sitting beside Jim, Oswald beams a toothy smile. His eyes too alert for it to be a little past six in the morning, Jim thinks.“Hello friend.” Oswald’s gaze travels up and down him, making tiny judgments. “It’s brisk isn’t it? The fog should fade soon though. Want a sip?” He offers Jim a cup, steam stemming from the opening on the lid.

“Thanks.” Jim tastes coffee but doesn't ask Oswald why he isn’t drinking tea instead. They fall into comfortable silence as Jim follows Oswald’s gaze toward a group of birds that are huddled together on naked branches, all fluffed up against the nipping cold. Jim always wondered how they survive the gotham winter. The men listen to sirens and the intermittent sound of cars that the fading fog muffles. Only dog walkers and runners pass through the park. They exchange friendly glances, as well as the coffee, back and forth.

The sun eventually breaks the horizon and the pair part ways.

\----

Jim is sitting across from Leslie but he isn’t looking at her. A couple sits a few tables behind Leslie and something radiates about them. There are touches and looks between them, which even Jim recognizes as signs of love. That type of deep, frenzied amore. He wishes someone would touch him that way, instantly remembering he is, in fact, in a relationship. Something in his mind clicks, but he cooly ignores it.  

“Your eyes look so weird when you space out.” Leslie remarks.  
   
“What?”

“It’s eerie, like a lens shifting out of focus. What are you day dreaming about?” She asks in her easy, friendly way. 

“Work.” Jim lies.  
   
“About that,” Leslie leans forward on the table, “Is it really smart for you to be on Strike Force? Going after Penguin seems somehow...ungrateful.” _Because, you know, you killed someone for him in exchange for get rid of Lobe,_ goes unsaid. 

“Gratitude and equity don’t exist in Gotham.” 

Leslie gives him an incredulous look, “Thats dark!"

“I came to Gotham to make it a better place. Heal it of it’s sickness. There isn’t any room for the mafia if that’s going to happen.”

“But it was ok to use the mafia to get your job?”

“Leslie.”  
   
“Just pointing out the inconsistencies in your code.” Her kind smile never faltering. 

\----

“Perfect, anything else?” Oswald asks a scruffy man, that serves him as an informant. 

“Yea, I have some updates on Jim gordon,” the informant says, opening a file.

Oswald holds up a hand, “Don’t, Jim Gordon is no longer your concern. You can consider him as someone off your radar.”

“You sure, boss?”

“Yes, no more following him,” Oswald says with a tight smile and sad eyes. 

—-

Leslie had been noticing that Jim didn’t toss and turn at night anymore. He didn’t wake up clammy and shaking from nightmares. He slept placidly and still. What was truly unusual to her, was the blissful smile he maintained as he slept. He let out happy little sounds too. In the mornings he jumped out of bed and got dressed with gusto. All before the winter sun even rose. None of this escaped Leslie’s notice.

\---

Oswald and Jim are standing in front of small coffee shop. One of the few that opens at 6 am. A little hole in the wall with no seating. Gabe sits in his car looking though a foggy window, watching out for his little master’s safety. He watches the unusual pair sip at their drinks. Their coat covered shoulders, flush. 

“You forgot to shave today.” Oswald says playfully. 

“Yea, I didn’t want to make a lot of noise. I keep waking Lee up, and shockingly she doesn’t enjoy being cognizant before 8am.” Jim see’s a frown pass through Oswald face that is quickly smoothed over. 

“Oh. Medical examiners are nine to fivers, then?” Oswald asks.

“Sometimes.”

“I hope this isn’t an offensive question, but why don’t you sleep in your own apartment?” Oswald asks.

“I don’t really have a place, just well, my parent’s old apartment. I don’t like to be there, it doesn’t feel like home, at any rate, I like to sleep with someone.” 

“Oh.”

“Don’t you?” Jim dared to ask.

Oswald smiles and looks down at his oxfords, “I slept in my parent’s bed until they finally kicked me out at the tender age of 13. But, I don’t know, I don’t think about it.’  _Even though he did, and often._

“Your lust for power doesn’t leave you with any spare passion for the bedroom?” Jim asks.

Oswald spits his tea back into his cup, and starts unsuccessful to form a reply. Jim notes the newly formed distance between their shoulders.

“That wasn’t funny?” Jim asks, frowning. 

“No, no it was!” but Oswald’s voice broke.   
\---

“Why do you wake up so early, lately?” Leslie asks suddenly, Jim and her are both waiting to use the coffee machine at the precinct.

Jim has been both evading and dreading this question. So of course, sensing this, Leslie is keenly interested in the answer.

“I just need more time before work, to be introspective and such.” _Yes, pretend that you examine your life, that will get her off your case,_ He tells himself. “The intensity has really been getting to me. A long breakfast and a work out help me feel focused for the day.” Jim pauses, truly wondering if this answer will satiate his girlfriend and adds, “it’s working for me.”

"Ok, were do you have breakfast.” Leslie asks curiously.

“What place? Just around.” Jim replies, hating himself.

“Does it have a name?”

“Um, that place by the precinct.”  

“It doesn’t open early enough for that, I know, I got to work before 7 one day and it was closed.”

“I’m supposed to be the detective here Miss Tompkins. This one does.” He attempts to tie up the conversation with a placating kiss on her cheek.

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not.” _Shit._

“Ok.”

“Ok.”

Jim watches his girlfriend leave without her coffee. He takes her cup, adding milk and sugar. As he carry's on with his day he forgets the entire incident, his mind filled singularly with thoughts of work.

\-----

Oswald turns off the lights in his room. He then blindly limps his way onto a large bed, careful to avoid hitting his knee on the corners. He does what he has every night, which is move toward the middle of the mattress and hug a pillow tightly. He loves to sleep on his side, and he loves to hold onto something. He lets out a contented moan and thinks about what it would be like to hold someone, to have someone hold him back. All his muscles start to uncoil. He lets his imagination travel. Water collects at the corner of his eyes and he doesn’t let himself acknowledge why. His imaginings feel so good, but it would be so much easier if he wasn’t thinking about someone he could never have.

—

Jim finally gets home in the morning after a late night of work and coffee with Oswald. A now habitual part of his day. Leslie is at work and he’s glad of it. He clumsy takes off his clothes and grabs a bottle of lube. He is already half hard. He has had a nagging erection for a week that he doesn’t use on Leslie. It’s gotten to the point were it’s a painful inconvenience. He touches himself and thinks about _him_ , his tiny hips and long fingers, and it’s the best damn orgasm he has ever had. After he comes, he weeps. He feels the type of longing that isn’t comfortable or sightly enough to be romanticized.

\- -

Jim fishes a ringing phone from his blazer and answers it on the last ring.

“Hello, Jim, are you on your way yet?” Oswald asks.

“Yea, about to leave the house.”

“Well don’t, I have some…unpleasant business to attend to. I’m afraid I have to miss our meeting.”

“Oh, yea sure. I’ll go back to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, this is so rude, on such short notice.”

“Not at all.”

“You sure?”

“Positive,” Jim lies.

“Ok, have a nice day my friend. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Jim sets his keys and coat down and doesn’t feel the energy to do anything but wait for the next morning.

\- - -

On the other side of town Oswald closes his flip phone as he looks out the car window. Gabe is driving, he starts talking about the task ahead. Oswald doesn’t listen, he instead admires his view of Gotham. It looks so beautiful in the early hours. It feels like a completely different city from the bustling metropolis it will turn into in a few hours time. Smells different too: crisp, clean. He feels safe for the first time in his life, tucked inside his expensive car, wrapped in silk and a tailored suit. He has everything he dreamed of growing up. Power. Respect, (well, at least he is feared.) It’s not a disappointment though, his life truly is better, it’s just that the high he used to get from work isn’t there anymore.

He wonders if this is how normal people feel about work, if it’s because they get satisfaction out of some other aspect of their life.

\- -

That same day Oswald’s cell phone rings around midnight. He’s still in his study going over a ledger. He doesn't have the strength to talk business, so he is happily surprised when the caller ID reads ‘James Gordon.’

“Hello detective,” He answers.

‘Hi, is this a bad time? I have some downtime at the precinct. I’m waiting on a blood report. Thought I would call.” Jim prays his reasoning sounds casual, instead of how it feels: needy.

“Don’t I feel lucky, you never call to just talk.”

“I’m not a talkative person.”

“That’s true. You missed me, didn’t you?” Oswald teases.

“ _Missed_ would be a strong word…Changing the subject completely, you wouldn't know about an assassin that leaves dried pig ears as a calling card? Would you?”

They speak amicably until Ed wordlessly gestures to Jim that he has results for the detective.

“I have to go,” Jim says, distractedly.

“I know you can’t admit it, but I can. I missed you today James. I had a horrible day, actually.”

“I’m sorry Oswald, tell me about it tomorrow.” Jim closes his phone and continues with his work in a noticeably better mood.

\- - - -

Gertrude Kapelput had an entire floor to herself in her son’s newly acquired apartment building. She enjoyed the lavish comforts her son provided her with but resented that with his new wealth he spent less time with her. She let him know as much tonight as they ate dinner together. A rare occurrence since he took the throne to his illegal empire.

“Mom, I’m so tiered. Please stop pestering me,” He whined, looking particularly defeated.

“I am your mother, you are supposed to love me!”

“I do!”

“You have a tarty bed-woman. Tis why you don’t let me come over to your home.”

“No one loves me but you Mom! No one ever has or ever will. You gave birth to a…monster! An unlovable monster, all so you could keep me to yourself. Are you happy?”

“What are these lies? How untrue, my baby is an angel.” She turned from sour to sweet without skipping a beat. Scary.

Oswald dropped his fork and started crying. Shoulders shaking, ugly face, crying. His mother moved over to sit next to him. Cooing and shushing him.

“What is it Oswald?”

“I’m going to die alone.”

“No. You have me.”

“Its not enough though. I need someone that didn’t give birth to me to care.”

“Are these tears for that awful police man, again?”

“No,” He responds in a small voice, nodding his head.

“He is no good for you, he yells at you, ruffs you up. Such abuse. You should be treated like a king.”

“I’m not though, am I? I’m scum mom, I’m treated accordingly.”

They eventually made their way to the sofa. His mother doted on him as she so often did when he felt sad. They fell into the dynamic that had started since he was young. That of Gertrude assuring Oswald that the world was broken. The antidote? _Her_. It was messed up, but he was totally complicit in it. It was just too gratifying to sink into the comfort to try changing. He learned his craft from her after all, she had a Phd in mind fucking, and an undergraduate in the science of manipulation. She wasn’t a bad person though, he really did admire her.

He needed to find someone that could love him this fully without all the mind games. _But unconditional love isn’t possible if it’s not family, right?_ Everyone else leaves, she had told him. He wondered if he was too messed up, if he could hold back his contriving nature. It wasn’t so much of a habit as a muscle reflex at this point. He wondered If he would strangle the life out of every relationship by trying to control it. He was starved for a genuine connection. He could be good, he thought. He could be so good.

\- - -

Jim lays in bed when Leslie walks out of her bathroom in a teddy. Long legs and freshly blow dried hair. Eye make up still on. _Why not wash it off?_ He wonders. She gracefully walks over to Jim’s side of the bed to straddle the man. They kiss for a while and Jim doesn’t feel anything. He doesn’t even bother faking the appropriate noises or feeling embarrassed for staying flaccid. It often feels like this when he kisses his girlfriends, pleasant at best, but mostly boring. It doesn’t carry even an ounce of electricity that comes when he accidentally brushes fingertips with _him_. Couldn’t begin to make something in his ribcage swell, like when _he_ looks up at Jim, full of goodness, all emerald eyes and peasant wrinkles forming around his mouth.

Leslie guides his hand over her bosom. He could just as well be gliding it over a pillow. It doesn’t make him feel anything. He separates from the kiss. “Hey, I’m not in the mood,” he tells is gorgeous girlfriend.

\- - - -

“Come over here, have a drink!” Jim yells into his cell phone.

“What? Sorry I can’t hear; what is that music?” Oswald asks, laughing. _How drunk is Jim, and why is he at a techno club?_

“Just come. Me text you address.” _Ok: super drunk._

Ten minutes later Oswald enters a cacophonous night club in his usual polished suit. Amongst a sea of young clubbers he finds Jim Gordon on a second floor balcony of the multi-storied club. For the first time since he has known this man, Jim looks extremely happy to see him.

“Ozzie!’ Jim exclaims as he stands to approach him.

“Oh gosh, Jim! Lets use my actual name, please.”

“I’m so glad you came, it’s such a great night, here, drink this. I haven’t finished it.” He pushed a tall glass into Oswald’s hand. It’s filled with pale green liquid.

“Oh, thank you. Perhaps we should find you some water.”

“No, no. Lets just sit and listen to the music."

“Sure.” A hand grabs Oswald’s. Jim walks him over to a plush but dirty looking booth, the music is loud and Oswald feels the base reverberate inside his rib cage. Jim doesn’t let go of his hand even when they sit down. In fact he uses his free arm to wrap around Oswald’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad you came.” Jim says. Something in his eyes is uncomfortably genuine for Oswald. He isn’t used to Jim like this.

“Thank you.” Oswald tilts his head back and swallows the drink Jim gave him, opting to join Jim at his drunk level rather than trying to babysit him.

“Wow, you shouldn’t hurry that. It had ice-cream in it. That’s the type of drink you are supposed to savor.” Oswald feels Jim’s fingers lightly play with the hair on his nape. Jim’s words drip vulgar subtext. They make ever hair on Oswald’s body rise.

“Um, why are you here alone?” Oswald asks, discreetly crossing his legs.

“Oh I came with Le Harves, but he left with a girl and there is such a nice vibe, I wanted to share it with you.”

“Oh,” is all the king of Gotham can think to reply.

Mercifully, the drink quickly has an effect, Oswald had already had a few glasses of wine with his dinner so it doesn't take long to get drunk. He finds that being on Jim’s level is very pleasant. He feels so in tune with the music, with Jim. They both sway lightly and gaze into each other through heavy eyelids. Their hands are intertwined so comfortably. Jim is really handsome. Oswald feels good-looking himself. The music is so nice. He loves this song. Lyrics about waves crashing and other crap.

Jim intended to seductively lean toward Oswald’s ear but sort of just falls onto Oswald’s shoulder and giggles instead. “Hey, do you want to dance. Can you?” Jim asks.

“Yea, of course, yea I would love to.’ Oswald says with that type of earnest enthusiasm that only a drink can bring.

They walked down the stairs to the first floor, were the dance floor was found. Jim pushed people out of the way so that they could dance closer to the stage. Mumbling something about GCPD while he brandished his badge. Thankfully no one payed him any attention. They slow danced for a long time. Oswald felt so relaxed and happy, his leg didn’t bother him at all. He felt really free, like he could leap and never fall. He had never been so close to Jim, he felt full of possibilities he wouldn’t act on. It was the most pleasurable agony and he intended to drink it in. It felt so good to be in love. To be with Jim. He could swim in this forever, weaving between the music, Jim, and reality. Eventually Gabe found them in the club, just drinking in friendly proximity. Oswald’s head may have been resting on Jim’s chest. He ushered them both out of the club and drove them home.

\- - -

“You did WHAT?” Harvey asks.

“Talk a little loader,” Jim hisses. They were sitting in a busy precinct by Harvey’s desk.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard correctly. You called Penguin after I left the club? _The Penguin._ Did he give you a bj and spin on a pole too?”

“It wasn’t as weird as that.”

“Jimbo, when are you going to admit you have the hots for the little freak.”

“Hey. Don’t call him that.”

“So he doesn’t just give you a boner, you have actual feelings for him?”

“I don’t know what to do, it’s so complicated. I’m dating Lee, and well, he’s a sick person.”

Harvey mutely gesticulates his surprise and horror when Jim doesn’t deny his accusation. He never _actually_ thought Jim liked the worm. He settles on asking, “Since when have you been gay?”

“Don’t be hoary. I’m bi, and since forever.” Jim pauses, “What do I do?”

Harvey sighs and considers his partner’s question thoughtfully. “Listen, the fact is, beyond all comprehension, your current supermodel girlfriend doesn’t smoke your salmon. However, when little emo bird flutters his lined lashes, you go crazy. It defies all logic but you have to follow your deeply disturbed heart.”

“I do?” Jim asks quizzically.

Harvey nods and offers Jim a pitying look. Because it is sad that Jim doesn’t even consider that acting on his desires is a possibility. He never has. Jim sees how sad it is to. He has made a lot of bad decisions, done a lot of bad things when it comes to dating. Being so out of tune with his emotions, it ruins things. He sees that he has made a romantic career out of taking fantastic women and flustering them to a point that they become unrecognizable. It’s like playing tennis against a wall, no matter how good you are, the wall never tires, but you do. His girlfriends always left him with a sense of fatigue. Leaving what they felt had been an overdrawn match.

\- - -

They try to meet somewhere different every morning. As Oswald says: important men can’t afford habits or vices. Still, they find themselves at the odd little park again. Oswald looks at a street sign, smiling to himself.

“Are you familiar with greek Mythology, Jim?” Oswald asks casually.

“Enough.”

“See that street sign.” He points. “Locus is a cultivated grove in Greek, according to mythology, it leads up to a large ivory palace that belonged to Eros. It was were he and Psyche first meet.”

“Love and soul.”

“Or breath of life. Yes. Exactly.”

——-

Oswald is happily sleeping when his cell phone rings. He doesn’t recognize the number but answers anyway.

“Hello,” he says.

“Who are you?” a female voice asks on the other end.

“You called!” Oswald yells, already annoyed.

“I’m Lee, I got your number off my boyfriend’s call log.”

“Oh, hello Lee, is your boyfriend Detective James Gordon?” Oswald asks, feeling both ridiculous and in trouble.

“Yes. Do you have a name?”

“Yes, ahh,” he reaches over to turn the lamp on his nightstand. “My name is Oswald Cobblepot.”

“Oh. OH. Penguin they call you.”

“Exactly.”

“I know this is an odd call, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I simply want to know why my boyfriend calls you so often.” Leslie says, in her calm, professional way. The same tone she might have used when calling to confirm an appointment with a patient.

“He doesn’t.” Oswald refrains from adding how this situation is the furthest thing from comfortable.

Leslie laughs. “Jim only has about…four contacts on his phone. You are by far the most used. So by his standards, it’s often. Far more than even me.”

“Well he sleeps with you, so you don’t need to call each other.” Leslie doesn’t fail to notice the jealousy implicit in the man’s statement.

“Jim talks about me?”

“In passing.”

“So these are not business calls?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because work calls don’t involve girlfriends, and also…I hear him laugh when he talks to you.”

“I’m sorry, its so late and I was asleep. _Is this the type of call I think it is?_ I’m not sleeping with Jim. You don’t have to be jealous.” 

 _My ass I don’t,_ Leslie thinks. "I’m not, Oswald. Jim is hiding something. He used to complain about you. Said you had a crush on him that creeped him out, but now he is all amorous. Why is that?”

“What are you trying to accomplish with this call?”

“I want answers.”

“I assure you, I’m not doing anything wrong. We just talk sometimes.” Oswald's voice thins and shakes.

“Is he in love with you?”

“I don’t know Lee. I want to go to bed.”

“Too bad.” she says firmly.

“Jim says he met you in Arkham. Tell me. Are you attracted to the helpless or the disturbed? More malleable, right?”

“Tell me Oswald, do you always deflect questions?”

“Will I be receiving a bill for the psychoanalysis, Doctor?”

“Not my observation to be honest, It’s what Jim says about you. I can see why.”

“He wouldn’t say that about me. He’s a friend.”

“He has said way worse. Now tell me the nature of your relationship with my boyfriend, don’t make me ask again.”

“Why are you so threatened by me Doctor.? Perhaps because you had to pursue him, pester him into submitting to you romantic desires. Perhaps because you know that the only reason he stays is because he hates being alone. That you are completely replaceable to him. That you live with an emotionally unavailable man. That you project whatever you want onto him, without ever knowing the real Jim. That your relationship fails to fulfill either of you and is the very definition of disfunction,” He says with as much lightness as he can fake.

“I’m not the sociopath. You don’t have anything to offer him.” She says cooly. In reality, she knows she might puke when the call is done. This is too messy a situation for her, strangely reminiscent of her last encounter with Barbara. She has lost control of the conversation and any chance of getting the truth. 

Oswald closes his eyes and very softly says, “I don’t want to keep talking to you Dr. Thompkins.”

“Very well. Goodnight Mr. Cobblepot.”

He smashes his phone and eventually falls asleep. The next morning he misses breakfast.

\- - - -

It was true though. All of it was true.

\- - - -

“Perhaps you should have considered being LOYAL!” Oswald yells, punctuating each word with a strike. He crouches over an insubordinate underling. He hits the kid over, and over and only hopes that the kid doesn’t die soon because he never wants to stop.

“You thought you could one up me?” The underling only moans. “You disrespected me. I am your king.” Oswald giggles, with euphoria.

“I think he gets the point, your majesty." Jim says, entering Oswald’s dinning hall. Oswald spins around in shock.

“Jim. Get out of here.” He lifts a hand as if to physically halt him, “No, wait. Why are you here?”

“I need to speak with you, in private.” He eyes the other guests wearily.

“Wait outside Jim.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I think I’ll stay here, watch as you help that young man up. Perhaps he would like to file a report at the police station.” The wounded man nods his head as vigorously as he can. The parallel between their current situation and their first meeting isn’t lost on either of them.

“He doesn’t. Jim, just please listen to me.” Oswald whines.

Jim sits down in a dinning chair in response. Oswald appears to be physically swallowing his rage down and shakes with it. He limps over to Gabe to tell him to take the trash out. Everyone exist the room, leaving Oswald and Jim alone. A warm fire crackles under the hearth but the mood is frigid. Oswald can feel icewater pump through his veins. Jim breaks the silence.

“Ever thought of a gym membership. More positive way to blow steam.”

“I like a punching bag that can strike back. Is that ok?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think.”

“It does to you, it’s why you won’t be friends with me, because I’m dangerous.”

“We are friends?” Jim winces when the response accidentally comes out as a question.

“Are we? Your girlfriend had some interesting theories on that.”

Jim sighed. “Thats why I came.”

“She told you what happened then? She was very cruel Jim.”

“Yes, well you are a helpless baby.” Oswald’s eyes bulge with a feral glare. “She told me, at least her account. I’m not sure how embellished it was, but I have an idea of went on.”

“Are you here to defend her?”

“No, I didn’t come to just yell at you.”

“She said that you hate me, that I disgust you.”

“She didn’t say that, and it wouldn’t have been true. I’m angry as hell that she snooped like that. I can’t believe she would call you, but she was right that I was hiding something.” Oswald relaxes enough to sit next to Jim.

“Why didn’t she know about breakfast or that we talk on the phone?”

“I don’t know, and I would leave the room whenever you called.”

“Why?”

“Because the way I talk to you…I’m not sure.” Jim didn’t want to admit anything he would later regret. It was safer to put attention back on Oswald. “I just, wanted to see if you were ok. I was worried when you didn’t show up this morning.”

“Hmm, You just want to make sure she didn’t completely reveal what you think of me? Wouldn’t want your mafia favors to dry up.”

“Oswald.”

“You are ashamed to be friends with me. You didn’t tell her because I defy your moral code.” Oswald says, hoping Jim won't agree.

“You defy everyone’s moral code. I just walked in on you trying to kill someone. With glee, might I add. Over what? Business? You don’t value human life.”

“I assure you I care fiercely about" He pauses, "two people.”

“Well that’s a relief.” Jim says sarcastically. _How was it easier to calm his jealous girlfriend than it was to wrangle Oswald?_ “Hey, stop pouting, I came here to make sure you were ok. Lets make that happen.”

“Move out of Lee’s. Find your own place, or go to your parent’s apartment.” Oswald says without hesitation.

Jim averts his gaze. Oswald’s words don’t feel like a threat, more like someone telling him what he knew he should have done a long time ago. The words are meant to be a demand, but they also aren’t. Jim doesn’t know what to say.

“She said you thought I was ugly.” Oswald adds, trying to move away from serious matters.

“Did she really?” Jim looks incredulous. That doesn’t sound like Leslie.

“I assure you,” Oswald lies.

“Well, I never said that to her. I think you look…” Jim thinks of a safe word to use, “nice. Better ever time we meet, money suits you.” Oswald flushes at the flattery. “You vain man, fishing for complements. I miss the black stuff, though.” Jim gestures to his eyes. _He must mean the eyeliner._  

“You do?” Oswald smiles widely.

“Yea. You look great without it though.” Jim says, and Oswald can tell that he means it.

“Why is Lee jealous of me, Jim?”

“She thinks that I’m having an affair. She’s paranoid.”

Oswald looks uncomfortable, “Jim, don’t take offense in this, but she isn’t. She doesn’t owe it to you to be a _cool_ girlfriend that’s ok with all of your behavior. Behavior that is unacceptable in most relationships. She is human. She has every right to show discomfort at the situation.”

“Maybe you’re right." He pauses, "Maybe I wish Lee was right about us having an affair.” Jim says, finally laying all his cards down. He is done with people reading him, he want’s to speak for himself, and his motivations for once. He wants to, for the first time, follow his deeply disturbed heart. “When she accused me I wanted to tell her it was true. I wished it was.”

“I don’t. I don’t want you that way.” Oswald replies defensively.

That was not the response Jim had expected at all. “I feel stupid.”

Oswald sees his comment was misinterpreted. “No. I mean, I don’t want to be the second option. A mistress. I want to be someone’s favorite person.”  

“I can understand that. You deserve nothing less.”

Jim wants to tell Oswald that he can give him that. That he can change things. They both want to say more, but it’s not the right time. Not for either of them. “I would love to continue this conversation, but I have to return to business."

“Fine.” Jim rises to leave, “Perhaps, consider clemency once and a while. Don’t kill anyone else today. For me?”

Oswald nods and the pair part ways.

\- - - -

Captain Barns wasn’t especially surprised when Detective Gordon asked to be taken off Strike Force. Conflict of interest, the detective had said. That he didn’t approve of Barn’s approach.

Barns had felt Gordon’s hesitation since he first started the job, though he could’t understand why. Gordon was an idealist, a good person. He had been acting recklessly to clean gotham up before Barns ever arrived. Challenging the establishment. He had hoped to make an obsequious soldier out of Gordon, but sensed that he just saw his captain as another obstacle in his way. Whatever Gordon’s goal was, Barns didn’t know. The detective said something curious about feeling like himself for the first time in ages. Quitting Strike Force was just him pealing back another delusive layer. The detective did look different, more open somehow.

\- - --

A few days later Jim leaves Leslie. It’s sad for him and painful for her. She had really invested emotions into the relationship. Still, the feeling that they were better apart was mutual. Jim feels guilty about it, promises himself he won’t do this to another person. He packs up his belongings and moves them back to his parent’s old place while Leslie is at work. Before he closes the door to Leslie’s for the final time, he notes that he didn’t change the place at all, it looks like he had never even lived there.

That weekend he calls in painters and handymen to renovate the apartment and tries to start calling it _his_ apartment rather than his parent’s. He takes up cooking, which he used to love to do.

\- - - -

They sit in the back of Oswald’s car on a cold December day. It had snowed the night before, so they sipped their drinks inside the toasty car rather than standing outside. Oswald had been telling Jim about how hectic the previous night had been. The story had been recounted with unusual grogginess. Now he rests his head on Jim’s shoulder, his breathing slow and shallow, fast asleep. Jim goes to hold the other man’s hand but see’s that Oswald’s hands are loosely draped around his cup of tea, which is wedged between his slim thighs. Being the reason why it hasn’t fallen over. Jim carefully lifts the cup and puts in a cup holder, but he isn’t carefully enough because when he places a hand on Oswald’s, he stirs. Oswald moves out of his touch and it’s a second of fear for Jim until their hands are readjusted with their fingers interlocking. “That’s better,” Oswald says. After a moment he adds, “I don’t want to do anything else,” shifting their hands to emphasize what he is referring to.

“We don’t have to.”

\- - - - -

Oswald Lays in bed, propped on his elbows, _technically_ fully dressed. His Jacket is pulled down to his elbows, a few buttons on his vest have been opened. The zipper to his pants is down all the way. One of his hands is holding onto Jim’s for life. The other is full of Jim’s hair, following the movement of Jim’s head as it moves up and down his cock. Oswald refuses to close his eyes, he wants to take it all in. What Jim’s face looks like as he moans around his erection. _God what that does to him._ He wants to watch how carefully Jim sucks him off, so genuinely taking pleasure in the task. He feels so wanted, so desired. All the things he has never felt before. Can hardly breath from the pleasure. He thinks about how this is what he had really wanted growing up, before everything got so confused.

Jim moves forward to meet Oswald in a kiss. It’s tender and protracted, like they were trying to drink each other in. Two people falling into each other’s heat. Oswald’s heavy breathing and the wet sounds of lips moving together fill their ears. Jim releases Oswald of his diamond tie tack, and the silk ascot follows. His fingers move to the dress shirt. It’s all so overwhelming. Oswald lets out how in love he is and Jim tells him how he feels the same way.

Oswald falls asleep with his arms wrapped around Jim. Outside, the sun rises over Gotham without them to see it. The lovers sleep in for the first time in months.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hope you enjoyed that! First Gotham Fic. Leave me your thoughts. <3 
> 
> The tittle refers to the drink of ambrosia Psyche is given after she proves her love to Eros.


End file.
